The Soldiers of Halla

THE FINAL JOURNAL OF BOBBY PENDRAGON

The door opened slowly.

Standing there nervously leaning on the frame was Courtney Chetwynde. The glorious Courtney Chetwynde. The girl with the amazing gray eyes that Bobby had known since he was in kindergarten. She never failed to take his breath away.

“Yo,” Bobby said, trying to sound cool.

He immediately regretted it. Nobody said “Yo” unless they were trying to impersonate Sylvester Stallone, and nobody tried to impersonate Sylvester Stallone anymore. Nobody even remembered who he was.

“Yo?” Courtney snickered. “What does that mean?”

Courtney always kept Bobby on his toes. It was one of the things he liked about her. One of the many things.

“It means whatever you want it to mean. I’m always saying interesting things, you know that.”

“I do, unfortunately.”

Courtney stepped into the room. She looked at the overhead light and squinted. “So bright. What are you doing in here? Growing geraniums?”

She clicked off the overhead, dropping the room into shadows cast by the light from a single table lamp.

“What are you doing? Trying to get romantic on me?” “You wish.”

Bobby chuckled. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m not welcome?”

Bobby didn’t have to answer.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she said.

Courtney was nervous. That wasn’t like her. Bobby sensed it instantly.

“What’s up?” he asked sincerely.

Courtney had trouble looking Bobby in the eye. She had something to say, that much was obvious. She wanted to choose the right words.

“It’s just that,” she began hesitantly, “I want to tell you something. I have the odd feeling that if I don’t do it now, I might not get another chance.”

“Oooh, sounds ominous,” Bobby joked. Courtney frowned.

Bobby backed off. “Sorry. What do you want to tell me?” Courtney took a deep breath and said, “I just wanted to say… I love you.”

Bobby waited for something more. It didn’t come.

“Yeah, and?” he asked.

“What? That’s not enough?” she shot back.

“Well, no, it’s fine. I just don’t understand why you had such trouble getting it out. It’s not like you haven’t told me once or twice… or a few thousand times.”

Courtney reached out and took Bobby’s hands. Bobby looked at them. As always, he was surprised by the sight. He was always surprised when he was reminded of things he had deliberately chosen to ignore. Seeing what his hands had become was always a shock.

They were once strong and large enough to palm a basketball. Now he had trouble steadying a cup of tea… when he was allowed to have tea. Which wasn’t often. His hands had grown smaller. Wine-colored spots appeared on the backs of them with growing regularity. His skin seemed gray, though he knew that wasn’t possible. He felt as if he needed some sun, but he didn’t spend much time out of doors anymore. It wasn’t allowed.

In his mind he was still a young, vital guy who strode boldly through life with confidence and good humor. The confidence and humor were still there, but he was no longer a young man. At least not physically. In his dreams he could still run with the joy of youth. He was never quite sure when he was dreaming anymore. Or sleeping, for that matter. The hours blended together. Time was irrelevant. In his mind he was another person. The person he used to be. Of course, that wasn’t really the case. He made a point of not looking into mirrors much. Or ever.

“What’s the trouble, Courtney?” Bobby asked softly.

Courtney held his hands lovingly. She tried not to cry. She didn’t want to have to let go to wipe away a tear.

“I’m sorry,” she sniffed. “I’m being an old fool.”

“Well, there’s no fool like an old fool,” Bobby said, trying to be light.

Courtney smiled. Bobby loved it when she smiled. After so many years, her gray eyes were as bright and alive as always. She still kept her hair long, but it was now silver. A beautiful, sparkling silver. Though random streaks of brown remained. He used to tell her that her hair looked like delicious golden amber. Courtney never really knew what that meant, but it sounded good, so she didn’t ask. Though her skin had lost the vitality of youth, and she couldn’t walk more than a few yards without the help of a cane, to Bobby she was still the most beautiful girl in the world. For him it was the eyes. It was always the eyes.

“I don’t know why I’m being this way,” she said, laughing nervously. “I–I just felt as if I needed to see you. Now. Tonight.”

“You just saw me this afternoon,” Bobby replied, trying not to sound too sarcastic.

Courtney nodded. She sat down next to him on the hospital bed. The same hospital bed where he’d been resting for nearly two weeks. “I know.”

“You still have the hots for me, don’tcha?” Bobby winked. “Better be careful, the nurses might start thinking we’ve got a little something something going on.”

Courtney laughed. Bobby always made her laugh. Even when she was in despair. Especially when she was in despair.

Though he wouldn’t admit it, Bobby knew what she was feeling.

He felt it too.

He had been in and out of hospitals for the better part of a year with any number of problems. The tests were never ending. The results were never good. The list of troubles was too long to keep track of. Eventually he stopped listening to the doctors. In his mind, nothing they discovered mattered anymore. He knew what his trouble was. He was old. Really old. When his time came, he knew the doctors would write down some specific reason or failure or condition, but that would be a formality. You had to put something on the paper. It was the law. Under the “cause of death” section, no doctor ever wrote “old age.” But that’s what Bobby Pendragon was suffering from. Simple as that.

As he looked into Courtney’s eyes, he knew what was troubling her.

They weren’t going to have much more time together.

Though they were the same age, Courtney was in better health than Bobby. It was a fact she didn’t hesitate to point out to him every chance she got. Through the years they never stopped giving each other a hard time. Bobby wouldn’t have traded a second of it. He had no regrets. He’d lived a full life that he could look back on and be proud of. Looking back was something he did often. Especially as he got older.

Bobby had lots of promise when he was young, and he made good on it. When he graduated from high school he went to his father’s old college, Villanova University, on full scholarship. There, as in high school, he played basketball. Villanova was a big-time basketball school. As good as he was, Bobby wasn’t in that league. At least, not as a starter. But he played. He would come in off the bench when the Wildcats were in need of 3s. Bobby was smaller than the rest of the pro-bound players. He didn’t have their skill. But he could always hit the 3s. He even got the chance to play in front of a national audience when ‘Nova went to the NCAA tournament his senior year. It was one of the most memorable and rewarding experiences of his life.

Bobby had no inclination to play pro basketball. When he graduated, he didn’t have much inclination at all. Life was full of opportunities; he just wasn’t sure which one appealed to him. He floundered for a while, working odd jobs just to make money. His parents wanted him to go to law school. They thought he could change the world. He didn’t want to let them down, but his heart wasn’t in it. He knew that he had a calling; the trick was to discover it.

Besides playing basketball, there was one thing that Bobby enjoyed more than anything else. He liked to tell stories. He had a knack for taking complicated concepts and writing them in accessible ways. He thought that nothing could be better than to make a career out of doing something he loved. Writing. But it didn’t come easy. At first he couldn’t catch a break or make a sale. Of anything. He wrote every kind of story, from epic adventures to online serials. He even stopped going by Bobby and used his full name, Robert Pendragon, just to appear more professional. Nothing seemed to be working. After suffering through one too many rejections, Bobby was ready to give up and, as his father put it, “get a real job.” Of course, that’s when he got his first break. He sold a short story to a magazine about Allied POWs being used as slave labor for private Japanese companies during World War II. His story was fiction, but based on fact. It not only gave him his first sale as a professional writer, but launched a successful, decades-long career as an author.

Bobby may not have become a lawyer as his parents had hoped, but in his own small way, he did change the world. He specialized in writing dramatic fiction based on true incidents. He brought history to life and made it accessible to people who wouldn’t ordinarily be interested. Among his many topics he wrote stories of child labor in third-world nations, handling illness without health insurance, and the challenge of combating illiteracy. He always picked topics that had social relevance. He wanted to take his readers beyond the story of his characters and illustrate the larger challenge in compelling ways. He won praise for his thought-provoking portrayals that shed light on so many pressing issues. Many of the books written by Robert Pendragon became required reading in classrooms. He never got rich from his work. At least, he never earned a ton of money. But he had the satisfaction of knowing that his work helped make a difference.

He didn’t see much of Courtney right after high school. She went to New York University, where she majored in communications while playing both varsity volleyball and Softball. She moved to Los Angeles and went into a career producing television news specials. She and Bobby always kept in touch, but didn’t see each other face-to-face until Bobby was asked to appear at a fund-raiser for California teachers. Bobby jumped at the chance, not only because he believed in the cause, but also because he knew that Courtney would be there to cover it. When they met, it was like no time had passed.

They were never apart again. Two years later they were married.

The two traveled the world. Whether it was for Bobby’s research or Courtney’s job, they saw places that most people only dreamed of. Together. When they wrote e-mails back to their friends, they always signed them: “The Travelers.”

If there was one regret for either of them, it was that they never had kids. They wanted children, but it was not meant to be. Though they had no kids of their own, that didn’t stop them from playing a big part in the lives of three very special youngsters. Their names were Allie, Claire, and Teddy. They were the children of Mark Dimond.

Mark was the one who followed the path that everyone expected. After high school he attended MIT. Where else? While there he was credited with designing technology that allowed 3-D images to be digitally broadcast and reproduced. The revolutionary technology was used not only for entertainment but for biological research, medical imaging, and communications. It made him a very rich guy. Not that anybody could tell. He still bought his clothes at discount stores and didn’t get his hair cut often enough.

He married a girl from Boston named Marie, and settled there. Not a month would go by that they didn’t see either Bobby or Courtney or both. They were like an extended family. Bobby and Courtney bought a house on an island off of Maine, where Mark and Marie’s kids would often visit. Bobby would take them on adventures from the time they were barely old enough to walk. Bobby and Courtney took them backpacking in the Sierras and rafting down the Colorado River. Bobby taught them to scuba dive. And drive a boat. And rock climb. And fish. And drive. And and and… Bobby became the kind of uncle that everybody wished they had. He always said it was a no-brainer because he’d been taught by the best. He promised Mark that he would always be there for the kids, as Uncle Press had always been there for him. Bobby kept that promise. Bobby always kept his promises.

Bobby wasn’t much for publicity, though he had one prized possession. It was a clipping from his hometown newspaper, the

Stony Brook Times. It was an article about two successful alumni of Stony Brook High, who had each gone on to do great things in widely divergent fields while still remaining best friends. Bobby had the article framed and he put it over his desk. Prominent in it was a picture of the two of them. Bobby and Mark. The framed article became even more precious when Bobby got a phone call that changed everything.

It was from Marie. She gave Bobby the sad and shocking news that Mark had suddenly taken ill, and died. It came with no warning. A heart attack before his fortieth birthday. Bobby didn’t even get the chance to say good-bye. It was a harsh lesson that life is full of surprises and not all of them are good.

At Mark’s funeral Courtney and Bobby both gave the eulogy. Courtney spoke of the importance of friendship and of inspiring people to follow their dreams. Bobby said that he was proud of Mark, not for the incredible accomplishments he made in his short lifespan, but for the fact that he lived his life doing something he loved. “That,” he said, “is a lesson we can all take from Mark that is far more valuable than any of his inventions.”

Bobby kept his promise. Both he and Courtney did all they could to help and support Marie and the kids. The Dimonds didn’t need money. They needed friendship and stability. Bobby and Courtney were there for them. Always. The extended family stayed strong in spite of the tragedy. Or maybe because of it.

“Marie and the kids came by yesterday,” Bobby said.

“All of them?” Courtney asked. She helped Bobby sit up in bed, moving the pillows and propping him up.

“Yeah. You know those kids aren’t kids anymore. They’ve got their own little ones, for cryin’ out loud, but they still call me Uncle Bibs.”

“And they always will,” Courtney replied.

The two were silent for a moment, then Bobby said, “I wonder if they felt like they needed to see me too.”

Courtney sat on the edge of the bed. She didn’t have to answer. Of course that’s why they came.

They were holding hands. It was late. Past visiting hours. The room was silent. There were no monitors of any kind. Bobby wouldn’t allow it. He didn’t care what his vitals were. “If I’m breathing, that’s vital enough for me,” he’d say. The doctors didn’t argue.

“It’s okay, you know,” Bobby said to Courtney. “I’m good with this.”

Courtney nodded.

“You should be too,” he added.

“I am,” she said. “It’s just that… I kind of got used to having you around.”

“Did you ever wonder what would have happened if you hadn’t come over to my house that night?” he asked. “The night of the basketball game?” Bobby nodded.

Courtney answered, “Nothing would have changed. Destiny is a funny thing. When something is right, it’s hard to avoid it. We’d still be sitting here, two old farts, spending more time thinking about the past than living in the present.”

“Speak for yourself,” Bobby said quickly. “I’m enjoying this hand-holding business.”

Courtney leaned over and gave Bobby a kiss. She liked kissing Bobby. Always did. They were interrupted by an unfamiliar voice.

“Uh, ooh, sorry. Excuse me.”

They both looked up quickly, embarrassed that they’d been caught kissing. Standing in the doorway was a man who looked to be in his forties. He wore a long, light brown coat over jeans and a work shirt. His brown hair fell below his ears. It looked like he hadn’t shaved in a few days.

“Didn’t mean to interrupt,” the man said. His eyes were on the ground, but Bobby could see that he was smiling.

“What’s the matter?” Bobby called out in a thin voice. “Never seen a couple of lovebirds smooching before?”

“Please, don’t stop on my account!” the guy said, and backed out the door. “I can come back.”

“Stop!” Bobby called. “The mood’s gone now, thank you very much. Who you looking for?”

The man walked into the room, still holding back his smile. He stood at the foot of the bed. “I’m looking for you, Bobby.”

“Bobby?” Bobby exclaimed. He and Courtney exchanged surprised looks. “Nobody’s called me that since I was a kid. Who are you?”

“I’m here to deliver something to you,” the guy answered. “Is that okay?”

“Sure,” Bobby answered. “So long as it’s something decent to eat. Between the lousy food here and my diet restrictions, I haven’t had anything edible in weeks. I could go for some French fries.”

The guy chuckled and stepped back toward the door.

Courtney asked, “Why are you here so late at night?”

The guy answered, “Because it’s time.”

Bobby and Courtney looked at each other again. Who was this guy? The visitor leaned out the door, reached to the floor, and came back with a large, white cardboard box.

“That can’t be for me,” Bobby announced.

“But it is.” The guy lifted the lid, reached inside, and pulled out a roll of yellowed paper tied with leather twine.

“Looks like a pirate map,” Courtney observed.

Bobby added, “If you’ve come here thinking I might head off on some wild-goose treasure hunt, you’re a little late.”

“No, I’m right on time,” the guy said. “But this is a treasure. Of sorts.”

“What’s this all about, young man?” Courtney asked, growing impatient. “Mr. Pendragon is not a well man. He doesn’t need to be bothered by-”

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to bother you. But I would like you to do something for me.”

“What’s that?” Bobby asked. “Read.”

“‘Read’?” Bobby repeated.

“That’s right. In this box is a story. A good one. Told in thirty-seven chapters.” He held up the roll and added, “This is the first chapter. The rest are in here. Some are in book form. Some are recorded with interesting technology that you can watch with a player. But they’re all part of the same story.”

“What kind of story?” Courtney asked.

“You’ll have to read it for yourself, but I can say this much, you’ll be glad you did.”

The man held out the roll of paper. Courtney took it and examined it curiously. Bobby took it from her and did the same. He ran his fingers over the rough surface, as if trying to glean some information by touching it.

He cast a suspicious look back to the strange visitor.

“Do I know you?” Bobby asked. “You look awful familiar.”

“I doubt you’d remember me” was the man’s answer. “It was a long time ago.”

“I remember everything, and you sure do remind me of somebody,” Bobby said. “You ever been to Stony Brook?”

“Like I said,” the guy answered, “it was a long time ago.”

Bobby stared at the man. Something was tickling the edges of his memory. He had met this man before. He was sure of it. Then, like a light switch being turned on, he remembered.

“I know!” he exclaimed, sitting forward. Courtney held him back, as if the effort might do him some damage. Just as quickly, Bobby relaxed. His excitement was gone. “But that’s… that’s impossible,” he said as Courtney helped him rest back against the pillows. “You sure do look like him, though.”

“I get that a lot,” the man said with a knowing wink.

Bobby kept his eyes on the visitor. Though he knew there was no way he could have been the man he remembered, there was something about this stranger. Something truly familiar. Something that told Bobby he should be trusted.

“All right, fella, I’ll read your story,” Bobby answered.

“It’s not my story,” the man corrected.

“Then whose is it?”

“Just read,” the man replied.

“What do we do with this when I’m done?”

“I’ll come back for it,” the man replied.

“Gee, could you be a little bit more mysterious?” Courtney asked sarcastically.

Her comment made the man laugh. “That’s perfect!” he exclaimed. Courtney looked to Bobby and shrugged. The guy backed away, headed for the door.

“Where you going?” Bobby asked.

“Gotta run,” he replied. “I’ve got nine more of these to deliver.” He was about to walk out the door when he stopped and looked back. His expression turned serious. “You should read it now.”

He said it like he meant it. Bobby and Courtney both understood.

He winked and added, “But first take a look inside the box. Good night, Bobby. Good night, Courtney. See you soon.”

With that, he was gone. Bobby and Courtney sat there staring at the door for several seconds.

It was Bobby who spoke first. “You’d think I’d be a lot more confused about all that.”

“I know what you mean,” Courtney said. “Who did he remind you of?”

“Nah, it’s silly,” Bobby said dismissively. “Take a look in the box.” Courtney stood and went to the foot of the bed. She looked inside to see more scrolls of paper. Some were the same as the first, others were light green. She saw bound volumes as well as loose sheets, and even a small device that Courtney figured was the “player” the mysterious guy mentioned.

“Now this just keeps getting stranger by the second,” she declared.

“Why?”

She reached inside and pulled out a small, white box with a thin metal handle. She held it up to show Bobby, saying, “Looks like he forgot his take-out Chinese.”

“Close the door!” Bobby exclaimed quickly. “Hurry! I don’t want those nosy nurses coming in and grabbing it away from us.”

Courtney opened the lid, looked inside, and smiled.

“Smells good,” Bobby said. “What is it?”

Courtney chuckled. “When was the last time you had some Garden Poultry fries?”

She tipped the box over, so that Bobby could see it was packed with the tasty, golden strips. Piping hot. Seasoned to perfection. Bobby’s eyes went wide with delight.

“Reading can wait,” he exclaimed.

The two polished off the fries in minutes. The experience brought back long-buried, delicious memories. Neither spoke while they ate. They didn’t want to break the spell. When the last fry was gone and the last finger licked, Courtney looked to Bobby.

“Do you want to read it now?”

“I’m thinking we should. I need your help though. My eyes.”

He didn’t have to explain. Courtney understood. “I’d love to.” She put on her own reading glasses, slipped off the twine that held the scroll together, and was about to unfurl the paper when she stopped and added, “We really had a great life, didn’t we?”

Bobby held his wife’s hand, squeezed it, and said, “The best.”

She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.

“Ready?” she asked.

“And so we go,” Bobby answered.

Courtney gave him a puzzled look. “You always say that. What exactly does that mean?”

He shrugged. “It’s something I say when I’m ready to move on. I’m always saying interesting things. Have I mentioned that before?”

Courtney chuckled and said, “Yes, I think you have.”

In the grand scheme of all that was and ever will be, a few decades is no more than a blip of time. An eye blink. A fleeting moment. But for the souls who live in Halla, every short second counts. All time is precious. The challenge is to make the most of it. The ability to decide how to spend time is a great and powerful gift. Everyone controls their own destiny. Makes their own decisions. Chooses their own fate. Not everyone chooses wisely, but that is the way it was meant to be. The way it should be. The way it will always be.

Bobby Pendragon got what he wished for. A little more time. When it ended, he could look back and know in his heart that he’d spent it wisely.

It was time for him to return to Solara. Courtney would soon follow. However, before that final journey could be made, he had to be prepared.

For that, he had to read.

“Can’t put my finger on it,” Bobby said. “But I’m kind of excited about hearing this story.”

“Then we shouldn’t waste another second.”

Courtney climbed into bed, leaned back into the pillow with Bobby, made sure they were both comfortable, and unfurled the scroll.

In a clear, confident voice, she began to read:

“Journal Number One. Denduron. I hope you’re reading this, Mark…”